


in a few years

by afellowofyellow



Series: magic is in understanding someone [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: - death mentioned a lot so beware, - not really but also yeah, Alternate Universe - Before Sunrise Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coming of Age, Fear of Death, M/M, Mentions of Sex, One Shot, Strangers to Lovers, course of one night, night before graduation, not slow burn, xiaodery week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afellowofyellow/pseuds/afellowofyellow
Summary: Dejun had spent the entirety of his high school career mulled up in his bedroom reading books and studying, and he'd managed to keep it that way for a while. That was until the night before his graduation - the night before he'd finally leave behind half the schoolmates he'd never given a bother to learn the names of.The same night Kunhang decided to crash the town over's graduation party.(or// Dejun and Kunhang are strangers that spend the night together talking about anything and everything. Based off the film "Before Sunrise")
Relationships: Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: magic is in understanding someone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836574
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	in a few years

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was weiRd to write because i am /not/ a dialogue person and i wanted to try a new thing with less description and more plain ole talking, but i think it went rather swimmingly ;)
> 
> i really really hope you enjoy !!

♠

_ Daydream delusion _

_ limousine eyelash _

It was on a Friday night (and well into Saturday morning) that Dejun first began to question everything.

He stumbled through the clammy bodies that roamed the dim hallway, tacky palms brushing the backs of his hands as he shrugged his way forward. He wasn’t used to the atmosphere that shrouded him – various nights spent keeled over textbooks and novels having erased away the possibility of growing accustomed to the vile surroundings he found himself in – and he pulled his way through the crashing waves of teenagers in hopes of a break in the tide.

Despite the heat that suffocated the house – the fumbling of gangly limbs in a strange rhythm giving way to overexertion that glistened like glitter glue over sticky skin – Dejun found the sweat that slicked him sent him shivering slightly. The air was heady with the scent of perfume and liquor, any hope of fresh air having been locked away with the shut of the front door. Dejun tightened his jacket over him.

In truth, Dejun had had no desire to leave the constraints of his four poster bed and three hundred thread count sheets; he didn’t see the point in doing so when he’d have to get up early in the morning anyway – well, when he’d have to get up in four hours anyway. But Dejun had been convinced in the form of a gummy smile and guilt-tripping best friend that a graduation party was a must-need.

Yangyang had a way with words that was sickening to Dejun’s right mind.

The boy found his escape in the form of a back deck – or rather back  _ porch _ – and he flumped onto the top step, stretching his calves until his hamstrings ached more from such than the tire of trudging through the house. The cement landing of stairs was fairly small and Dejun hunched into the corner as best he could, brushing his shoulder against the holly bush there to clear way for one to stumble down the steps. He wondered if it’d be worth coming if only to see a few drunken blunders. He dismissed the thought as cruel.

The prickly bush snagged over his shoulder and Dejun lifted a hand to brush it away, flinching as the needle nicked his skin. The May air was humid, the muggy weather putting a damper on each inhalation he took and Dejun leant back on his hands, glancing up to the night sky. It was barren of stars.

The door behind him creaked open and Dejun leaned further into the bushes, his neck scraping uncomfortably as he made room for a passer-by. No one passed. Dejun tilted his head to the side, holly leaves leaving trails of white over his skin like chalk over asphalt, and flitted an eye over the space beside him. He was greeted with a similar expression.

_ Oh baby with your pretty face _

_ drop a tear in my wine glass _

Dejun jumped as a classmate – one he’d be flipping the tassel alongside the following morning – tripped down the steps, staggering against the hold of his peer before continuing on, unfazed. The boy seated on the opposite side of the porch snorted.

“-you ever been that drunk?”

Dejun turned to the boy, flicking his eyes over his features. He was notably attractive, to the point that Dejun felt himself inhale sharply as the boy watched him in return. His face was slim, the dark of his hair long as it kissed across his cheekbone, and Dejun slanted his mouth into a thin smile.

“No, I don’t drink… often.”

“Do your parents?” he startled at the rather immediate prompting and furrowed his brow.

“No,” his voice was questioning.

“See, that makes sense. Kids who’ve seen their parents drunk are twice as likely to get drunk themselves – and often. It’s not as much peer pressure as you’d think. So, your parents don’t drink, you don’t drink. It’s like an ‘apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ thing.”

“It sounds more like a coping mechanism to me. Your parents abuse alcohol, so you use it for the same thing you’re trying to escape – maybe a metaphor.”

“A metaphor?” the black haired boy’s voice was full of mirth and he smiled softly, his eyes trained over Dejun’s face. He raised his shoulders into a shrug. “Use what hurts you to help – so that you hold the power instead?”

Dejun nodded, “Use what hurts you so that it doesn’t hold power over you.”

“It sounds like something the teenage mind would conjure up and try to defend,” Dejun barked a laugh and glanced away, his eyes trained on the indigo canvas of the darkened sky. They sat in silence for a while, Dejun could feel the occasional flicker of the boy’s gaze over him and he fought the urge to turn away.

It wasn’t exactly usual for Dejun – to find himself speaking with strangers at house parties he didn’t attend – and he felt himself squirm under the other’s attention. He’d never been the most confrontational person, whether that be with simply starting a conversation or addressing a problem, it didn’t matter, and he found the prospect of holding a conversation to be slightly overwhelming.

“Do you go to this school?” Dejun turned, eyes widening as he processed the question before nodding. The boy continued. “I don’t. My cousin does – Lucas? I’m not sure if you’ve heard of him but I tagged along, I’m graduating tomorrow anyway from the town over so… decided I’d make a trip out here because it only really happens the one time.” Dejun nodded, letting out a laugh in the form of a heavy exhale as the boy continued.

He seemed the type who didn’t particularly need another to have a conversation, he just spoke – and when he needed a reply, or rather  _ wanted _ one, he waited. He’d gestured widely with his hands on occasion, his mannerisms jumpy as he enthused his sentences, and Dejun watched him with a side eye and lips curled into a grin.

“I know Lucas; he’s in a class or so of mine,” the other waited, as though expecting an elaboration – one Dejun didn’t provide.

“What class?”

“Literature,” the boy nodded, his hair falling gently over his eyes and catching on the eyelashes there. He didn’t bother to brush it away and Dejun felt his hand itch to tuck it behind his ear.

“Is that what you want to do?”

Dejun shrugged, “It’s what I’m going to college for – don’t know if it’s what I want to do.” The boy watched him, prompting him to continue. “I’ve read since I was a kid but… there’s not much for me in the career path, I guess? I’ve never enjoyed writing so it’s not like I can be a journalist and  _ review _ literature. And my parents have been such critiques my whole life that I have to do  _ something _ I can make good marks in. And literature is kind of  _ that _ for me – a good grade.”

The other raised his eyebrows before he spoke, “So, ultimately you’re undecided?”

“Something like that... ” Dejun laughed, shaking his head to himself.

“I’d like to be a journalist – I like reading about the most mundane things and yet still finding something exciting in them, so I want to be able to make other people see that as well, I suppose? And I want to be able to put to words things that normally aren’t expressed in language and somehow make them beautiful – like writing about…” he turned his eyes to the back lawn, “the filth of teenagers and partying, and maybe add in how their parents influence them,” he laughed softly, “and somehow make it just, you know, take your breath away. I feel like then I’d have succeeded in life – if I can somehow accomplish making things like… filling out your taxes seem impressive.”

Dejun scoffed, “Isn’t the whole point of writing to be about things that are exciting – and you couldn’t normally experience?”

“But why does it have to be? I feel like writing is all about seeing the beauty in the little things, so we should use it to make people see the beauty in everyday life.” The boy turned, his shoulders facing directly toward Dejun as he honed in on the conversation. “What’s your favorite book?”

Dejun raised his eyebrows, “Harry Potter.”

“Why?” the other lifted his hands wide to emphasize his question, “That’s a book based on things that could never happen, so why let it be your favorite when it could just give you false ideas? Take  _ The Lord of the Flies _ for example, sure it’s a rather _ unlikely _ story but it makes you realize the beauty of safety and mundane.”

“The author was a horrible person.”

“But doesn’t that make it all the more interesting?” he didn’t miss a beat. “And I’m not sure J.K. Rowling is the best person either...” he added as a side thought, his voice lowered to a mumbled. “But anyway, he was a man deadened to the world with an amazing concept of evil – it just goes to show the difference in views from one person to the next. And, still, it backs the safety in plain living.”

Dejun scanned the boy’s face, cocking a brow as he processed his words. “Alright.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Morally, maybe.”

They sat in silence for a moment, bright grins painted over their faces, before the other began to speak. “I was actually planning on getting something to eat, maybe at this point pull an all-nighter, did you wanna come?” he points a thumb over his shoulder, toward the house.

This was a boy Dejun would potentially never see again - he’d pack up for college, move to the neighboring state for university and move on with his life. The following morning was a day that was supposed to set in stone the rest of his life - a life that consisted of leaving the rest behind. If he followed him, he’d be getting to know a boy he had no chance of seeing again.

But he could ignore that fact.

Dejun scanned his expression for a moment, twisting his mouth to the side before he nodded, slowly. “Why not?”

“-could be a murderer.”

♠

_ Look at those big eyes on your face _

_ see what you mean to me _

The bus thrummed around the pair and Dejun glanced toward the boy. His eyes were focused outside the window, tracking the beams of light that illuminated from street lamps as they rode past, and his hair jostled further into his eyes with each pothole the bus hit. Dejun lifted a hand and tucked it behind an ear, flinching as he flicked his eyes over to him sharply.

“Sorry, it was bothering me.”

“So, what’s your name?”

Dejun laughed softly, turning his eyes to glance at the hands he held in his lap. “Dejun.”

“I’m Kunhang,” he lifted a hand and pointed it toward Dejun, leaving it to hang between them. Dejun reached to the outstretched palm and shook it lightly, grinning to the boy. His palm was soft, cold despite the May heat, and Dejun pulled his away for fear that it was clammy in the other’s grasp. He wiped it along his thighs anxiously and Kunhang quirked an eyebrow petulantly.

Dejun noted the dark of Kunhang’s eyes, how they appeared almost black in the dull, orange glow of the bus, and he darted his own pair away. The boy’s eyes were wide, almost doe-like, and they seemed to display each emotion he felt as though painted across a canvas of chocolate spread. They had then swam with mirth directed toward the other.

Dejun felt his stomach curl with a strange sense of nerves and he clenched his jaw to ebb away the sickening feel.

“I have an idea, but you’ll have to bear with me for a second,” Dejun turned to him, knitting his brows together in question. “We should get to know each other better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like ask each other a bunch of random things – things you wouldn’t normally ask a stranger – and you have to answer with a truth you wouldn’t normally  _ tell _ a stranger.”

“Like… an intrusive game of twenty questions?” Kunhang barked a laugh before nodding.

“Exactly like an intrusive game of twenty questions. I’ll go first.” Dejun quirked his brow before he nodded to the other. “How old were you when you realized sex was a thing?”

Dejun snorted, tipping his head back to knock on the fabric of the bus seat headrest. He glanced over the ceiling, wracking his brain for a moment in history. “We're starting off pretty random. But honestly? I’m not sure. My parents never bothered to tell me – and it’s not like I ever caught them or anything – I think they just assumed I was an intelligent enough child that I’d figure it out myself. And I did, I guess? I assume I read something that mentioned it and just looked it up, maybe,” he glanced toward the other’s amused expression, “it’s not a very ‘exciting’ story. No sexual desires to lead me there.”

“You seem to paint your parents out to be awfully unsupportive.”

“They’re not,” Dejun shrugged, “they just have their own ideals. They’re in the mindset that children shouldn’t grow up dependent – just expectant of the best of the best, I suppose. The only thing my parents ever bothered to teach me themselves was death.”

“And that’s not unsupportive?”

“No, not in my mind. Whenever I wanted to do something they’d egg me on but… they didn’t think I should need help – that I should learn things myself instead. Even the death thing was kind of a riddle for me to figure out.”

“How so?”

“Said I’d never see the cat again because he’d been too tired to go on.”

Kunhang nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Dejun. “My mom explained death to me as the only thing positive. She went in depth about like the carbon cycle and everything – I think I’ve never been so horrified,” he scrunched his nose. “They’re atheists, my parents, so they were pretty dead set on drilling it into my head that I’d just never exist again. I’m kind of indifferent to it all now; I’ll believe what I want to when the time comes and until then… I’m lucky to even exist, I suppose.”

Dejun glanced out the window over Kunhang’s shoulder, tracked the greenery that blurred past like the warping of a reflection in water, rippling into smudges of forest green and mousy brown. The only thing that remained clear were the dotted lines that painted stark on the asphalt, seeming to slow as they passed before speeding off behind them in the distance.

“I wish I could positively believe in one – that there is no God or there is. Instead I’m sort of in a constant state of anxiety toward my end. I’m not sure whether it’d be selfish to believe in an afterlife just so I’m not scared or if I’d rather just be positive that this is it so I can live to the best of my doing. But I think I’d hate that idea too, knowing with complete positivity that once I was gone I was… well… gone. It’s just kind of a constant bugger in the corner of my mind that the one certainty in life is… uncertain.”

“It’s your question,” Dejun glanced up, his eyes wide before he laughed as Kunhang completely dismissed the conversation. He thought he liked it better that way, to change the subject with such ease as though it weren’t a concept of impending existentialism that so many handled with an utmost gravity. It reduced it to something of little importance – something that couldn’t harm a mindset or even seem remotely frightening.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Probably you,” he grinned. Dejun furrowed his brow.

“What?”

“It’s a joke. I guess, on the subject of dying, I’m afraid of losing the people around me that I care about. Like, I haven’t been raised to be scared of death, but I’m afraid of when I never get to see my family again.” Dejun nodded, twisting his lips to the side in contemplation.

“Well, you can practice with me after tonight,” he laughed, cracking his neck as he glanced to the front of the bus. “You’ll never see me again once you go back to your house and we leave for college. This is kind of it.”

Dejun felt Kunhang’s eyes over him as though the boy had reached out and ran his hands across his skin. A shiver ran up the curvature of his spine. “You don’t think we’ll ever see each other again?”

“Why should we?” his voice was lowered with curiosity and he clashed his eyes with Kunhang after he spoke, watching the boy mull his words over.

“I feel like we have good conversation though.”

“That’s a lot of work for just ‘good conversation’.”

♠

_ Sweet cakes and milk shakes _

_ I’m a delusional angel _

_ I’m a fantasy parade _

“Why do you think we fear death – as a population?”

Dejun looked up from the menu to where Kunhang was eyeing him. He pondered the thought for a second, his eyes losing focus as he thought to his own experiences – to the nauseating spin of his head when he thought a little too hard about a little too much. To him, it was the unknown – the concept that, once he was gone, he may never have his own thoughts and his consciousness will simply cease to exist – whilst to others, it may be the loss of interaction with their children, the loss of the ability to complete their dreams. To many, it may have been the inability to conquer time and its unpredictable speed.

He chose to shrug before continuing, “I think it’s just a fear of what we can never understand until we experience it firsthand. And by then it’s too late for reassurance.”

“But shouldn’t we fear life instead? That’s the hard part – at least death is the certain end, in life we don’t know where our actions will take us.”

“I think the definition of mankind is cowardice. We’re a mass of people who wish for more time but are afraid to utilize it.” He leant forward over the table slightly, wrapping his lips over the thick straw that floated in the dense milkshake.

Kunhang furrowed his brows, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth. “How is that cowardice?” he asked, “Isn’t it that we’re all brave. Sure, we fear a lot but we live life as though everything is permanent. I don’t think that’s cowardly – maybe selfish. If we were cowards we’d all hide inside to avoid death. We may not use our time to the best of our ability but we still make our choices and do what we want without fearing an outcome for the most part – I think that’s brave.

“Think of it this way: you could have told me ‘no’ because I’m a stranger. But, instead, you decided that you’d enjoy yourself if you tagged along with me here. That’s bravery, even if you may not immediately think that you’re doing the most out of the time you have here, you’re still doing what makes you happy. Isn’t that both using your time well  _ and _ being brave?”

Dejun surveyed the small diner, neon lights glowing above him nauseating to the eye and the scent of fry-oil and grease off putting. He didn’t exactly think that sitting in a sticky booth at a twenty-four hour burger joint was his definition of courageousness but he also supposed it wasn’t him fearing his end of time.

“And hey,” he flicked his eye toward him as Kunhang continued, his hands thrusting into the air and dropping the plastic menu to fall to the table and send a brush of wind to muss Dejun’s hair, “you could keel over and die from the cholesterol in these burgers, but that won’t stop you from eating them.”

Dejun snorted before nodding; letting his shoulders shake with laughter.

“I could also get murdered for coming here with you, but I think I’ll still stay because you’re cute.”

“You could kiss me, too.”

“It’d be brave, wouldn’t it?”

“Make the most out of your time, right? We’ve got until sunrise and death.”

Dejun leant over the table and pushed his mouth against the other’s.

♠

_ I don’t know what to think _

_ don’t want you to guess anymore _

The grass was wet beneath the pair’s feet as they walked, the blades leaving droplets to coat the soles of their sneakers, and Dejun curled his toes where his socks grew damp. It hadn’t rained recently, the humidity in the air condensing with the sudden cool of night and forming dewdrops on the satin green grass.

There were a few streetlamps burning in the dark to illuminate the park, the golden glow casting a circle of light that faded to shadows as you drew further away from its protective beam. Dejun drew his jacket closer around him to combat the chill of the starless night.

“What bothers you – about the world?”

Dejun watched his feet as he walked, the trod of each step that flattened the strands of grass before lifting once more to carry himself forward. “Probably politics, we’re all pawns in the grand scheme of things – media influences us too; teaches us what to think, what to do; while we thrash to make a name for ourselves when, truly, we’re just being controlled.”

Kunhang hummed. “I think life’s like a game of spades – everyone’s playing, but only those with the right traits, or spades, can trump the others. We all have the option of holding power over others – we just don’t have the rights characteristics to get there.” Dejun's shoulder brushed Kunhang’s as he turned hastily toward him.

“But that’s exactly my point! The majority is controlled by the few who are deemed worthy when, in actuality, they’re crooks planting false ideas and lies in our heads who are no more worthy than the rest of us!”

Kunhang stopped walking, a smirk plastered over his lips, and he turned to Dejun. “It’s those same traits that are crooked that are the reason I’m brave enough to kiss you again.” Dejun balked as the boy drew him in, his scent shrouding Dejun with the press of his mouth against the other’s. He drew back with a soft grin, the skin of his nose kissing Dejun’s as he rested his forehead against the boy’s and whispered against his mouth. “People who don’t hesitate are the ones that survive in this world. Isn’t that the same as your opinion on using what little time we have?”

Dejun yelped in offense and Kunhang drew back with a laugh. “You can’t have one and deny the other.”

“You know what else I hate?” Dejun’s voice was raised, his eyes wild with a mock exasperation. “Prejudice. But I don’t suppose that I should support _ that _ – or do you still consider it people ‘using their time as they want’ and ‘not hesitating’?” Kunhang laughed in response, tipping his head back with the slit of his eyes as he laughed, open-mouthed to the skies.

Dejun thought he looked rather angelic – or made even god-like – as he tipped his head to laugh toward the heavens. It wasn’t teasing or full of spite – not a fallen angel to curse the heavens – simply joyful. Kunhang was an angel sent to Dejun to complete a task – and he was laughing because he was thankful, he was succeeding.

Dejun was changing – his ideas were growing and he had begun to think that, maybe, his time was special and meaningful. Maybe Dejun didn’t need to fear death because everything he could ever want was in the form of a conversation with a boy and he didn’t need anything more.

A conversation that would soon end with the break of dawn.

“No, I suppose that you’re right.” They continued forward in silence, their hands clasped together to swing gently in the thin gap between the heat of their bodies. Streetlamps flickered in the dark, the expanse of the sky painting a soft lilac with the approaching early morning light, and the pair stumbled through the dark with soft laughter and muttered words.

_ You have no idea where I came from _

_ we have no idea where we’re going _

“You don’t suppose that if God were real that fate is too?”

Kunhang turned to Dejun, his brow cinched into a straight line. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, do you think that we have any control over our actions? Or were you bound to ask me to spend the night with you – don’t laugh at that – and I had no choice but to say yes?”

“I mean,” Kunhang tipped his chin upward, his eyes scanning the wide expanse of the galaxy that appeared a slat of ebony rock scattered in pale sugar with the faded stars, “would that be a horrible thing?”

Dejun studied the curve of Kunhang’s jaw as the boy remained staring upward. “If it is, I think God is cruel,” Dejun whispered, whether fearing the heat of his words or the eavesdropping of an otherworldly being, he was unsure.

“Why’s that?”

“Because He’s given me something I cannot keep and am bound to lose.”

“What?”

“You,” Dejun continued, watching as Kunhang slanted his eyes to meet his.

“Why do you have to lose me? Why does tonight have to be it?”

Dejun shrugged, glancing over the deserted park. In the dark it was chilling, shadows pressed against trees and animals crashing through leaves, and Dejun swallowed the bile that lodged in his throat like hair in a drain. “We leave for college – I don’t even know where you’re going, and you haven’t asked me – and a long distance…  _ thing _ would _ suck _ . We’ve barely just met; we shouldn’t build something and immediately be separated by distance.”

Dejun could feel Kunhang’s eyes on him and he pulled his thumb upward to bite down on the nail, nervous under the boy’s scrutiny.

“That’s fair but there’s a life after college.”

“And that life may not be near here,” Dejun met Kunhang’s stare. The boy shrugged, cocking his head as he kept his eyes trained over Dejun’s expression.

“Alright.”

♠

_ Lodged in life _

_ like branches in a river _

_ flowing downstream _

_ caught in the current _

“It feels like we were just suspended in time.”

Dejun glanced toward Kunhang, the boy outlined against the rising sun. His face was shadowed with the bright sky behind him, tangerine oranges and canary yellows carving way for the rising sun like acrylics scraped over canvases, and Dejun squinted against its shine.

“Like the world stopped all night and it’s just now resuming. Someone hit pause.”

Dejun laughed, “We’re just living our life as best we can, going with the flow of things. Making the most of time, right?”

“A trout swimming downstream?”

Dejun hummed, glancing to the horizon that had bloomed with gardens of warm lilies. The world had stopped for a while, worries beyond the darkened sky to rest with the dormant sun, and with the brightening of daybreak all else recommenced, the halting of ethereal night dissipating with the view of the moon.

“What will you do after graduation?”

Kunhang turned to him, running eyes over the boy like fingertips over naked skin. “I’m moving to Tennessee.” Dejun nodded, glancing back to his hands that pulled over each other in agitation. The pair continued to walk along the street, their feet trudging as they elongated their time together before the awaited separation.

Dejun felt unsure of everything. He couldn’t ask him to stay – the thought was idiotic as it crossed his mind – and he didn’t know that he wanted to tie the boy down, not to the small town in which Dejun stayed and not to the boy himself. But Dejun didn’t like the idea of the end.

_ I’ll carry you you carry me _

_ that’s how it could be _

“I’m going to university here,” Dejun said, tracking his eyes on the house that grew overwhelmingly larger all too soon – the devastation that grew on his doorstep and the regret that lay behind his doorknob. The shadow it cast seemed suffocating as his foot stepped into the puddle of dark. “This is me,” he gestured a thumb to the building, stopping and turning to face Kunhang. The boy smiled, casting his eyes over the house. It looked tight on his face.

“Okay,” he met Dejun’s gaze again, “I guess we say goodbye,” his tone was a question.

Dejun chest hammered as he stood before the boy, his throat tight with apprehension and his eyes stinging as he faced Kunhang. He offered a small smile. “I think so.” They stood in silence for a while, the sun beating on their necks until they were burning under the heat and sweat glistened over their skin like crystalline diamonds. Dejun flicked his eyes to the ground.

“I think we shouldn’t say goodbye,” Dejun snapped his eyes back upward. Kunhang’s brow was contorted with anxiety and Dejun arched his own.

“You want me to just leave?”

“No,” Kunhang laughed, his eyes crinkling as his nose scrunched and wrinkled, and Dejun lifted a brow in question. “Let’s meet again – please, just agree with me – not a commitment or promise to wait for each other, but just to continue our ‘good conversations’,” he lifted his hands in quotations, “after we’ve solved a little more, and found a few new things to hate.”

“And when will that be?”

“After we graduate.”

“After we graduate?”

“Yeah,” Kunhang nodded rapidly, his hair falling into his eyes. “It’ll be like a tradition. In four years, after we graduate college, we can meet back here – maybe not at that random kid’s house party,” a laugh bubbled over in Dejun’s throat, “-but at the diner. May twenty-sixth, the night before we graduated high school, but four years later.”

Dejun watched the hope bloom over Kunhang’s face in the form of a rosy blush and the wet of his eyes. He smiled. “Alright. In four years, then.”

Kunhang barked a vibrant laugh, one that held the same resonance as the fading colors of sunrise, and pulled Dejun into a kiss. The clash of their mouths was impatient – not allowing time to beat the passion they held for the other – and wonder sprung between their interlocked mouths with the mingling of their breaths. A wonder that was childish and questioning and brave.

Dejun stepped back, pulling his hand down the other’s arm to grasp his palm as they parted. His mouth spread wide into a smile that squinted his eyes until he could barely see past the lashes there and his cheeks began to throb with the muscles he strained.

“In a few years, then.”

Kunhang lifted a hand in a wave, backing away from the boy. “In a few years, then.”

_ don’t you know me _

_ don’t you know me by now _

♠


End file.
